Chess
by HappeningInMyHead
Summary: Clint Barton has been sent to kill the infamous Black Widow, but when their encounter goes from hostile to intimate, he may just end up bargaining with her instead of sending an arrow through her skull. Potentially a collection of 'firsts' read, review, tell me if you want more. xx


Okay so this is my first real story. It's a one-shot, really just to see if I could make a stand alone before I went on to multi-chapter with a longer plot line. I was thinking of making this into a series of one-shots sort of compiling a lot of their 'firsts'. Please read, review, and tell me if you want more.

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Some people compared him to God.

He was watching from the rooftop as she emerged from the building into the throng of people outside, her red hair taunting him as she swished from person to person. It'd be so easy to end her right then and there: to send an arrow shooting through her skull at breakneck speeds and watch the chaos that ensued around her lifeless figure, but he needed information from her. The arrow would have to wait.

Leaving his makeshift nest he gripped the edge of the roofing and swung in through a door on the second floor into a vacant room. He shot out into the hallway only encountering a single tipsy couple as they scurried to their room. He took the stairs two at a time, threading seamlessly through the thickening crowd. He slipped out into the cool night air and caught sight of her instantly. Her read curls bounced as she schmoozed another ancient businessman into a conniption. He sped up as she began to turn away and barely caught her shoulder in time. She whipped around to face him, her body tense, and her blue eyes sharp and warning. He looked into her eyes and he knew—without a doubt—that she knew exactly why he was here. He broke out into a jovial smile as he released her shoulder from his vice like grip.

"Nadine Roman," he grinned.

"Excuse me, but I don't believe we've met," she replied, eyeing him warily.

"No, but I've heard a lot about you," he smirked, knowing she'd catch onto his double entendre. "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Joseph Franklin. My supervisors and I have taken _quite _an interest in you. We think that what you do is," he paused, looking her over, "worth looking into."

They stood there: eyeing one another down and sizing them up. Her weapons were expertly concealed despite her skin tight dress, but he supposed that was the point, wasn't it: if people can see everything they'll suspect nothing.

"Shall we sit down," he asked, offering his arm. She considered her chances for a moment and decided she was better off agreeing with him.

For now.

He led her over to one of the many tables set up in the estate's massive yard and pulled her chair out for her. She sat down, yet never took her eyes off of him. He sat next to her and signaled for a waiter to come over. He ordered them each a scotch which arrived in record time for one of these events. The drinks sat between them—untouched. They stared at each other trying to figure out weak points, reaction time, strength, duration levels. What they each came up with was next to nothing and, in the world they lived in, next to nothing was one of the best things you could get: a challenge.

She broke the eye contact to look over at their glasses, dripping water down the sides. She dragged her index finger around the rim of her glass before picking up the glass and downing it like it was a glorified shot. He silently commended her before slowly taking a sip from his own tumbler. They were opposites; at least that was obvious.

"So, Mr. 'Franklin', tell me: how are you going to do it," she taunted as she leaned close to his face. Her hand slid up his thigh before squeezing his leg playfully. She smirked as she began to pull away, but her smile faded as he closed the space she had just contrived. He mimicked her actions and glided his own hand smoothly beneath her dress to softly caress her inner thigh. She shivered at the roughness of his fingers and concluded that he worked with his fingers a lot. That with the fact that he was here to kill her led her to a million different possibilities.

"I'll tell you exactly how I'll do it," he grinned. He began rubbing circles above her knee and slowly worked his way towards her center. "I'm going to do it slowly. Methodically. I'm going to study every move you make and every breath you take so that I can commit every second of it to memory." He continued to lean in closer and closer until their lips were almost touching.

"Now, sweetheart wouldn't you like to do this somewhere a little more private," he hissed in her ear as he grabbed the handle of the knife she had stashed in a hip holster beneath her dress. She jumped as his hand gripped it suddenly. For a moment she had forgotten that he was there to kill her. For a moment she was a woman and he was a man and there was alcohol in their systems and lust in the air. He turned the blade in his hand and slowly dragged the tip along the soft skin of her thigh. He looked up into her eyes to see a mixture of fury and fear. He was the first of the many men sent to kill her to ferret out one of her weapons. If he could find that one, then she was sure he'd be able to find the others. This was a game of chess, and she was losing. He pulled the knife from under her dress and slid his finger across the edge, slicing it open and letting a tiny drop of blood stain the blade. He lifted his finger to his face and scrutinized the cut. He looked her in the eye before slowly, and almost seductively, sucking the blood from his finger. He placed the knife inside his jacket before rising from the table and offering his arm once again. She didn't hesitate this time. She stood and looped her arm through his as he led her through the crowd back to the massive estate where the main event was being held.

Some people compared her to Lucifer.

He glanced over at her—expecting to see fear on her face—but saw naught but a silent determination. They both knew how this was going to end and she had accepted that. Once again he found himself admiring his enemy.

Back inside, the deluge of people was much worse. They found themselves standing idly in the same spot for minutes on end simply waiting for enough space to take a step forward. More than once men headed towards Nadine intending to charm and seduce her. Upon seeing him, however, they turned and all but ran the other way. With the exception of one either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid man, they remained unbothered.

He took his time approaching them, first spotting her from the other side of the extensive ballroom and then jostling many people to get closer to her. When he was about twenty feet away, he spotted the closeness of the pair and realized they must be together. He debated with himself a moment before deciding to attempt enticing the woman anyway. His rapid approach was noted by each of them, yet neither did anything in an effort to halt it as they were both curious as to how this would play out.

"Aren't you a vision," he mused as he eyed her curvy figure. His eyes stayed fixated on the swell of her chest before he slowly dragged his eyes up to meet hers. He could tell by her expression that she was not impressed. He smirked at her as he brought a nearly empty bottle of vodka to his lips and took a long drag of the clear liquid.

_Of course,_ she thought, _he's drunk._

"Look, in case you didn't notice, I'm here with someone," at this she motioned to the man at her side. He immediately covered for her by slipping his arm from hers to instead curl around her waist and have his hand lay on her thigh possessively. She only faltered for a moment before picking up her train of thought, "So why don't you go drink yourself into a stupor and spend some quality time with your hand and a tissue." She began to turn into the slight embrace Joseph had initiated before a hand grabbed her arm. She turned back to the intoxicated man whose expression was stuck somewhere between fury and amusement.

"Come on, baby. Let's have some fun," he said as he leaned in to grab her chest. She gripped his wrist and twisted his arm back as a few people began to stare.

"Maybe you didn't hear me the first time. I'm here with someone else. So why don't you fuck off," she growled as she pushed him off of her. As he spun away from her his eyes landed on Joseph.

"Who, this guy," he laughed, drawing the attention of many bystanders. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me, doll. Pretty little thing like you with this piece of meat," he roared in her face, all signs of amusement gone and suddenly furious, "what'd he pay you, huh? Twenty bucks to suck his dick? Or did you say you'd do it for five he called you pretty?" Many people in the room gasped at this, but she seemed utterly un-phased.

Just as Joseph was rearing his arm back to punch the man in the face, Nadine slipped from his grip and punched the drunken man in the nose. He stumbled backwards and clutched his face as his nose began to gush blood. When he pulled his hand away the crowd gasped at the crookedness of his nose which was now nearly a right angle. Looking at the blood on his hand and down his front the man began to charge her. As he drew closer she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his body down while bringing her knee up into swift and forceful contact with his groin. He doubled over as she jumped and locked her legs around his neck. She twisted her body causing him to spin and fall sharply on the hard marble floor. She released his neck from her grip at the perfect moment and landed on her feet. As the crowd looked on in stunned silence she called for security to escort the man out.

Joseph tried to ignore his erection, but he failed desperately. There's something about a woman kicking ass that got him every time.

Joseph's arm was at her waist swiftly as he began to lead her toward the winding staircase. Once they reached the second floor of the massive mansion he all but dragged her to his room and slammed her back against the door and pinned her there with his own body. It was only then that he realized how short she was. Even in her heels he was a solid five inches taller than her. He stuck one of his legs in between hers and pinned the other to her right side. He blocked her in on her exposed side with his arm and she took this opportunity to examine it. Even through the layers of his suit she could see the clear definition of his bicep. Her heart beat quickened at the prospect of a good challenge. And her center moistened at the prospect of a great fuck.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key to the room. He unlocked the door and shoved her into the room rather unceremoniously. He slammed the door behind them and for a second they just stared at each other waiting for the inevitable moment for when they would attack.

"What's your real name, Joseph," she asked in a smooth tone. He eyed her as he began to take off his cufflinks. She noticed now that they were tiny golden arrows and she smirked at the tell of his chosen skill.

"Why do you need to know," he scoffed. He eyed her closely, almost hungrily, as she removed her heels from her feet and dropped another four inches to the ground. Their eyes met and she began walking towards him slowly,

"The way I see it, you and I are either going to end up fighting, fucking, or both. Either way, I'd like to know your real name so that I can call it out—whether it is in climax or in victory." She now stood directly in front of him and her breasts pressed gently against his chest. They stood there for a moment breathing one another in before he made a rash decision and slowly leaned down to press his lips gently to her neck.

"Aren't they the same thing," he smirked.

She sighed lightly at the surprising gentleness of the touch. His movements soon became rougher and her moans increased at the same sporadic rate. His arms wrapped around her waist and he lifted her off the ground to relieve himself from bending so low to taste her. She wrapped her legs around him so as to take some of her weight off of his arms. He took this opportunity to slam her into the wall. He moved his mouth from her neck to her lips and finally they kissed.

"Your name," she mumbled against his lips as she slowly ground her hips against his. He leaned his forehead against hers and caught his breath before he spoke.

"Clint," he whispered, and she nearly moaned just hearing him say his own name because it sounded just that good and she couldn't wait to try it out against her own lips.

"Natasha," she replied as a growl began to rise in his throat. She smiled at the sound and the desire behind it. He began to grind his hips against her own—pressing his erection against her center. She whimpered slightly and wondered to herself why this man she only met less than an hour ago was having such a dramatic effect on her body, but she could tell from his hardness that he felt the same.

She began to paw at his jacket before finally gaining purchase and pushing it roughly off his shoulders. He shrugged it the rest of the way off and she began working on the buttons of his shirt. He moved his hands slowly down her sides before gripping her ass tightly in his hands thus making her squeak. He carried her over to the bed and laid her down before pulling his shirt off followed swiftly by his undershirt.

She reached her hand up and gently caressed his chest and the muscles there. She let her fingers glide over the scars; some were pinker than others—fresher. There was a particularly jagged scar cutting from just below his left collar bone to the center of his chest and as her fingers traveled the ridges of the scar he gripped her hand in his own before gripping her other wrist and quickly tying both of her hands to one of the bars on the headboard with his tie. She wondered to herself, only briefly, when his tie had even come off. Had he been wearing one before? And then her heart skipped a beat as she thought for a moment that his may all have been a trap to get her into this vulnerable position where she was now unable to fight. Her legs were strong, but not strong enough to take this man before her down while he was completely unhindered.

He turned away from her for a moment and she thought he was surely going to get some wicked device to torture her with, and in a way she was right. He faced her once more and lowered his body onto the bed so that his head was in between her open legs. A switch clicked in her brain and for a moment she wished instead for sharp points and knives instead of what awaited her. After all, pleasure is more tortuous than pain.

He looked up at her from his position low on her body and smirked at the shocked look on her face. He pushed her dress up so that it bunched around her hips and delighted in the sight he saw before him. Her underwear was black and lacy and utterly perfect for what he wanted to do to her. He reached up and gently rubbed the fabric against her wet center. He rejoiced in the result. She squirmed as the fabric caused great friction against her sensitive folds and clit. He rubbed his fingers faster and faster before quickly hooking his fingers inside her underwear and pulling it from her body swiftly. He quickly replaced her panties with his mouth as he licked her thoroughly. She groaned and struggled against her restraints. He smiled against her skin as he reached up to grip her hips. She whimpered as he licked her again—this time pushing his tongue ever so slightly into her. She moaned again and attempted to overcome the strength of his grip on her hips. He continued like this before finally slipping his tongue into her. He moved his muscle against her inner walls and dragged the tip against her as he pulled himself out. He moved onto sucking her clit as he replaced his tongue with his fingers. He only slipped one in at first, but her mumbled protests were so insistent that he had mercy and slid a second finger into her warmth. She moaned loudly and he was sure that the people in the rooms to either side of theirs heard her. This thought only made him want to make her scream louder.

She draped her legs over his shoulders and urged him closer and deeper into her. He sucked on her clit harder and added a third finger to her soaking warmth. She gasped before muffling herself by biting her bottom lip. He paused his ministrations for a moment to mumble against her skin words that she barely heard: _Say my name._

He looked up at her to see her head thrown back and her chest heaving as she gasped for air. He closed his eyes, so lost in the euphoria that was the taste of her, that he nearly missed the sight of her as she came. He felt her clench around his fingers and looked up to see her: her eyes closed, her hands searching desperately for purchase on the headboard, and her lips as they formed his name. She yelled his name into the night so loud and full of pleasure that the sound of it nearly brought him to completion as well, but he held out so that he might feel the wonder of being inside of her.

He untied her wrists and backed away from her smugly as she struggled to catch her breath. He reached for the buckle of his belt and tore it from his waist. He unbuttoned his pants and let them fall around his ankles before hooking his thumbs inside the waist band of his boxers and tugging them down.

Natasha stared at him as he stripped before her and returned the favor. She rose to her knees and peeled her dress off her body to reveal a black lace bra that matched the panties previously discarded. She reached behind herself and unhooked the contraption before letting it fall off of her form.

Clint smirked as he walked back towards the bed and climbed towards her. She smiled as he came closer to her. She laid down slowly on the bed as he leaned over her. Supporting his weight on his hands, he lowered his lips to hers gently before applying more pressure. She gently reached and caressed his neck as he slowly worked her mouth open with his own lips. Just as he was shifting his hips into position to thrust into her, she flipped them so that she was straddling him. He looked up at her with a slight look of wonder in his eyes before sitting up to kiss her.

She placed one hand on his chest and curled her other arm around his neck as she slowly slid down around him. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip and he inhaled sharply. After a moment to adjust to him, Natasha began moving her hips slowly. Clint grunted and leaned in to kiss her neck. Their hips began to move in tandem. She gripped his hand and placed it on her ass so as to encourage him to touch her. He took her cue and let his hands roam freely across her body. She moaned as Clint slowly kissed his way up her neck to place light pecks on her jaw before kissing her hard on the lips. He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and she arched towards him. Their hips ground against each other and he moved his hand down her body to her clit. He rubbed hit in time with their sporadic hip movements. He groaned as her nails dug into his back.

She began to clinch around him and threw her head back as she screamed his name. He gasped as he found release in the feel of her around him and the look of her in ecstasy.

They fell away from each other and stared up at the ceiling of the room. It was silent for several moments before they turned to look at one another. They sprang from the bed in unison and as Natasha ran for her nearest knife, Clint pulled a collapsible bow out of the closet of his room and they turned to face each other. It didn't matter that they were naked or that they had just fucked or that they were both still a little woozy from the intense orgasm they had just shared. What mattered was that they were here to kill one another and there was no more putting it off.

She was a little hesitant to kill him. There was something about him—about the way he held himself or maybe about the way he touched her that made her a heart sink at the thought of slitting his throat.

He had an arrow cocked on the string of his bow and pointed straight at her head. He, too, was hesitant. His grip on the bow tightened as he considered his options. He had no choice. He had to kill her now. There was no way he'd get any information out of her now—they'd shared something too intimate. She'd been in his position too often. Clint knew that she'd never talk.

Unless…

He lowered his bow which unnerved Natasha and only inspired her to hold her knife tighter and higher. He set his weapons down on the ground and slowly took a step towards her with his hands raised. She hesitated and then lowered her arm. Realizing that she was still naked, she snatched the sheet off the bed and coiled it around herself. He reached down and put on his underwear before gingerly sitting on the bed and inviting her to sit with him. She slowly paced over to him and perched on the end of the bed.

"I was sent here to kill you," he stated matter-of-factly. Natasha's grip on her knife tightened.

"Yes, I realize that," she replied curtly.

"I was sent here to torture you until I got all the information my bosses wanted. I was sent here to make you scream in agony and then put an arrow through your skull," his voice rose slightly and he pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. "I'm an assassin. I was sent here to kill an assassin, but all I found was an asset." He looked up at her and was not surprised to see her face had lost all signs of emotion and was back to the stony indifference she had adopted when he had first approached her.

"What are you leading up to," she questioned bitterly. He rose from the bed and leaned instead against the wall.

"Come work for my employers. We can protect you, train you, teach you. You'll be even better than you are now—you'll be the best there is."

"I already am the best there is," she scoffed.

"Yeah, but wouldn't you like to be better," he exclaimed. He wasn't often like this. He was usually very much like her: stony and detached. Something about the way she held herself or maybe the way she touched him had him feeling differently now.

They stared at each other in silence for another moment. She broke the stare to look down at her knife in her hand. She ran her finger along the blade and across the tip. A tiny drop of blood erupted from the tip of her finger and she wiped it away on the sheet without a second thought.

"If I agree," she said as she crossed towards him, "I only talk to you. I don't speak to any higher ups until I say so. I will be treated with respect—not as a ticking time bomb." She now stood directly in front of him, the knife in her hand gripped so tight her knuckles were white. "Deal?" She stabbed the knife into the wall next to his head. He didn't even flinch.

"Deal."


End file.
